


Do I Throw My Hopes In The Fire?

by walkerofthestars



Series: With Morality Like a Polynomial [2]
Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, BTHB, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Conner Kent is Superboy, Dick Grayson is Dead, Dick Grayson was Robin, Flashbacks, Funeral/Memorial, Kaldur being guilty, Lex Luthor being an ASS, Or not, Sequel, Temporary Character Death, Wally West was Kid Flash, Whump, dark!AU, no beta we die like robins, sorta - Freeform, you gotta read the first one for this to make sense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:01:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29305407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkerofthestars/pseuds/walkerofthestars
Summary: The door was opened, Clark turned to look at the new person in the room, wishing he didn’t know exactly who it would be.Conner looked at him like he’d just been kicked in the stomach. To be completely honest, Clark was probably mirroring the look.Conner had grown two inches since he’d seen him last. He looked good; a little tan, wearing a tailored suit, hair cut fashionably.There was a LexCorp logo above the breast pocket of his blazer and his tie was a matching green.Conner let his face turn neutral, straightening and folding his hands behind his back, then looked to Luthor and said, “the car is ready, sir.”Conner isn't particularly happy with how his life has ended up, but he supposes there's nothing to be done. he gave up on hoping a long time ago.but he's not letting Luthor capture Wally.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Lois Lane (in the background), Conenr Kent & Clark Kent
Series: With Morality Like a Polynomial [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2150019
Comments: 8
Kudos: 57





	Do I Throw My Hopes In The Fire?

**Author's Note:**

> WOOOOOOOO I have not edited this. I'll do it tomorrow.  
> there'll be a chapter for each of the OG six to start and then I'll keep going till I'm finished lmao.  
> title is once more from Gang of Youths 'What Can I Do When The Fire Goes Out?".  
> the next chapter will be Dick's chapter and it's the one this whole fic started with originally, so it's gonna be fun.  
> as mentioned in the tags this is to fill the BTHB prompt 'funeral/memorial'.  
> there are some flashbacks in here, I haven't marked them out or anything, I think y'all are smart enough to notice what's present and past. if not just comment and I'll put something in to mark them out idk.  
> there wasn't much explanation in the first part of this, it was very much just Wally tripping out and no background information or context. this gives _some _context, but only what I want you to know right now. there's a lot more to unravel.__

Clark towered over the woman sitting at the desk, casting a shadow.

She looked up at him, her face completely blank and ready to throw hands with whoever was about to annoy her until she made eye contact with Clark. Her eyes widened, jaw dropped, and her fingers stilled over her keyboard.

“Hi,” she said, voice high and small, “can I help you?

Clark smiled kindly, watching as the woman’s eyes glanced between his face and the S-insignia on his chest, “I’d like to speak to Mister Luthor.”

“uh…” she blinked, looked at her screen, “I-uhm- he’s busy at the moment.”

“ah,” Clark nodded, “Yes I’m sure he often is, but this is important.”

“uh, well- “

“You can allow me to enter the room or I can get in on my own, it’s up to you.”

She stuttered and then hit the keys on her computer to allow him to enter the elevator.

“thank you.”

He marched over, head high, not bothering to look at all the people gaping at him.

He wouldn’t usually do this, but he supposed it had been coming for a while now. He’d been angry for years, been wanting to strangle Luthor for years, but he’d had _control_.

At this point his control was slipping. He hadn’t even told anyone he was doing this.

He walked into Luthor’s office on his own, not bothering for someone to walk in and announce him as if this were a King’s court. He was in the middle of a meeting with two other people, who quickly ran out as soon as they laid eyes on him. Luthor stood from his desk, hands behind his back.

“Superman, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Clark let his glare out full force, he’d learned plenty of tips from Bruce, and walked around the desk to stand before Luthor, looking down his nose from his three-inch vantage point.

“Central City.”

“what about it?”

“attacked by something cameras caught as only a blur of yellow. The league picked up on extreme levels of interdimensional energy. So,” Clark’s glare intensified, “what did you do?”

Luthor laughed, lightly and like a privileged rich white man (go figure), “you think I had something to do with that?”

“Did you?”

“aww,” Luthor held a hand to his chest in feigned insult, “come now, Superman, I thought we knew each other better than that. Please. How could you think so lowly of me?”

“thirty people confirmed dead and eighty-nine injured, that sounds right up your alley.”

“now, now,” Luthor said, “Central isn’t my preferred place of business, perhaps you should take this up with Captain Cold.”

“whatever or whoever was behind the attack had to have been exposed to some form of advanced technology,” Clark said, “that is definitely your preferred ‘area’ of business.”

Luthor crossed his arms and acted as if he were thinking, “now, I really don’t recall any plans to attempt at leveling Central City, would you like me to check my ledger?”

Clark scowled and opened his mouth to retort but Luthor’s office phone wrang.

Luthor held up a finger, turned and answered it.

“make it quick, I’m entertaining a guest.”

God Clark wanted to deck him in his silver-spoon, 1%-er _face_.

Luthor’s face turned serious and he squared his stance, “I see.” He glanced at Clark, “then prepare my car.”

He hung up, turned to Clark, “apologies, it seems this conversation will have to be cut short. Such a shame, perhaps we’ll have to schedule something later, could you do Friday?”

Clark was about to storm forward, “we’re not done-“

“yes. We are.” Luthor said, straightening up and fixing his cuffs, then the lapels of his blazer.

“ _Luthor-_ “

“reign it in, Superman,” Luthor said, “I’d hate to have to bring my Bodyguard in to protect me.”

Clark went _rigid_.

He breathed in. he breathed out.

Luthor smiled, “good. I’m glad we understand each other.”

“If you think that I will-“

Luthor then turned to the phone and called a number inside the building, “excuse me, I feel threatened, I’d like an escort to my car.”

Clark stared at the phone, wishing he could crush it.

Luthor looked back at him like he’d just won a chess match.

“The League will find out what you and your _Light_ are up to, Luthor.”

“of course you will,” he said, walking around his desk and picking up a manilla file sitting on one of the chairs.

The door was opened, Clark turned to look at the new person in the room, wishing he didn’t know _exactly_ who it would be.

Conner looked at him like he’d just been kicked in the stomach. To be completely honest, Clark was probably mirroring the look.

Conner had grown two inches since he’d seen him last. He looked good; a little tan, wearing a tailored suit, hair cut fashionably.

There was a LexCorp logo above the breast pocket of his blazer and his tie was a matching green.

Conner let his face turn neutral, straightening and folding his hands behind his back, then looked to Luthor and said, “the car is ready, sir.”

“thank you,” Luthor said smiling, then turned to Clark, “this was fun, love to do it again, but do call ahead next time.”

Clark’s hands stayed clenched at his sides as he watched Conner escort Luthor out.

He sped away; he couldn’t stay in that office for a second longer.

He managed to remember to change out of his uniform before walking in the front door of his house.

Lois looked up from her book, sitting on a couch in the lounge room, and her shoulders drooped as soon as she laid eyes on him.

“what happened?” she asked, putting the book on the coffee table and standing.

Clark just walked up to her and hugged her, dropping his head on her shoulder.

“you wanna talk, cuddle or do you want me to help somehow?” she asked, hands around his middle and leaning her head into his.

“can I be little spoon?”

“you bet.” She said, smiling into the hug, “but you gotta help Jon with his homework when he gets home from school.”

“deal.”

“okay.”

They headed for the bedroom, and Clark almost fell asleep. Lois poked him in the side when the clock on the bedside table flicked over to 2:30.

“I’m gonna put dinner on.”

“it’s a bit early,” Clark said, voice muffled in the pillow.

“we bought a slow cooker for a reason.”

Clark snorted, “okay, I’ll go pick Jon up from school.”

Clark let himself fold back into the mundane steps of normal life. Domestic life. There was no world-ending crisis for the Kent family, no multi-dimensional issues, no politics.

No clone sons who’re stuck working for corrupt businessmen trying to inadvertently run the world.

He was explaining fractions to Jon when he got a call. An unknown number, out of the country. He ignored it.

They called back immediately.

“I’ve gotta take this junior,” Clark smiled and ruffled Jon’s hair, who stuck his tongue out at him and then called for his mother to help him.

Clark placed the phone to his ear, standing in the hallway, “Kent.”

“Superman…”

Clark blinked, startling off the wall, “Roy?”

He was panting, and his voice sounded distorted, like he was in pain.

“Don’t call Ollie, can you just-“ he broke off into a coughing fit for a few moments, “uh…”

“where are you?” Clark asked, headed for where he’d left his uniform already.

“uh… I’m, I think, uh…” Roy took a deep breath, “Happy Harbour. There’s… a really tall building, and a… STAG enterprises sign?”

“I’ll be there soon, okay, just stay there.”

Clark took a deep breath as he stepped up closer to Bruce, watching as the casket was lowered.

Around them stood hundreds of people. So many of them were heroes in disguise.

“How’s business?” Clark asked.

Bruce, bless his soul, knew exactly what Clark was doing. What he was _trying_ to do by ignoring the situation.

“good,” Bruce answered tightly, “Lucius has taken on some more work for the next couple months.”

“you going on holiday?”

Bruce’s jaw twitched, “I don’t do holidays.”

Clark snorted.

“how’s Lois?” Bruce asked.

Clark nodded, “good,” he swallowed, “she’s expecting.”

Bruce’s eyebrows shot up.

“she hasn’t actually told me yet,” Clark said, “but I can hear the heartbeat.”

“and she hasn’t told you yet?”

“she went overseas for work, has only been back a few days,” Clark said, “I think she’s just trying to figure out how to fit it around everything else.”

Bruce nodded, still not looking at Clark.

“How’s Dinah?” Bruce asked.

Clark sighed, “taking it about as well as everyone else.”

Bruce nodded; Clark noticed a glisten in his eyes.

“Bruce,” Clark started, about to put a hand on his shoulder but faltering, drawing it back to his side with great amounts of effort, “I…” _I’m here for you, I can help, you can talk to me, we’re friends._

“I know.”

Clark’s shoulder dropped and he exhaled, “Okay.”

He heard a rustle, a distant murmur, and he turned his attention to a hill in the distance near the edge of the cemetery.

He frowned, Bruce noticed and followed his gaze.

“is that…?”

“it is,” Clark said, taking a step towards the two people standing on the hill, watching the funeral from a distance.

They turned and began walking away.

“no.” Clark sped over, not giving a _damn_ that he was in civvies, he refused to let them walk away-

As he hit the top of the hill something thunked into his chest and pain seared into him like hellfire. He shuddered and fell to his knees, looking down the other side of the hill to the street where two cars were waiting, and five people were leaving.

Conner gave him a desperate look as Mercy, Luthor’s bodyguard droid, herded him into the backseat.

Conner found absolutely nothing different about today to his usual routine.

He woke up in his apartment in Luthor’s skyrise hotel that he owned and lived in. he did the perimeter check, he made sure everything was in order security wise for the day’s events. He put on a suit, he headed up to the penthouse and gave Luthor a brief explanation of the day’s events in relation to security measures.

They went to the office, Luthor sat through meetings. Conner didn’t need to sit in for those, and he preferred not to. He occupied himself by checking up on security in the office building, doing some training in the gym with the other guards and winning every match, eating lunch in the cafeteria and catching up with the familiar faces.

He hated the suit he had to wear. He was allowed to change when in the gym but everywhere else it was suits. Tailored. Black and white with a touch of ~~Kryptonite~~ green so that everyone _knew_ exactly who he worked for.

Everything was fine. He’d gotten used to all this years ago.

That didn’t mean he was happy to see Clark.

Well… _happy_ wouldn’t be the word for it. of course he was _happy_ to see Clark cause it meant he was still alive, still breathing, still fighting the good fight.

But the fact Conner could see Clark meant that Clark could see Conner. And he wasn’t so happy about that because he wasn’t so happy, _so proud_ , of what he’d become. out of no choice of his own, will of his own, nothing of his own that would suggest freedom to decide and become this, but nevertheless it was still his lot in life, and he’d learned to let go of hope of rescue and give in to the fact that this was the rest of his existence now.

Not very heroic. Weren’t heroes supposed to never give up?

Yeah. Conner was no hero. He was never meant to be. and he’d tried, god damnit he’d tried, but he was made to be a weapon and that was about all he’d ever get.

As they walked to the elevator Conner tried to compose himself, to get himself back together, to seclude himself in that little empty piece of his mind that let him pretend this wasn’t his life for two seconds.

He wanted to hit Luthor for pulling that, wanted to strangle him, punch him in the face, show him exactly how he felt about all this bullshit, but he couldn’t. he couldn’t, he couldn’t, he couldn’t, and he _hated_ it.

M’gann had tried to erase _red son_ from his head, but once they got him again they put it back in. it was still fresh, just took some work. Luthor didn’t _have_ to be so merciful as to let him stay in control, to let him exist with some façade of freedom. He could say the words and have Conner be a mind-controlled puppet for the rest of eternity.

Conner didn’t think he could live with that.

He opened the door for Luthor, watching as Mercy sat down next to him. Conner walked around and sat in the driver’s seat.

“I’m sure you know where you’re going,” Luthor said, pulling out his phone as he checked a piece of paper in the folder he’d brought.

“of course,” Conner said, merging into traffic.

Luthor called someone, Conner didn’t bother trying to check the number in the rear-view mirror. He wouldn’t be able to, and even if he did, what would he do with that information? He had a LexCorp phone as his only form of communication, and it was probably rigged up more than _him_. Screened wouldn’t even begin to cover it.

“I understand it was a success?” Luthor asked whoever was on the other end of the line, face carefully blank. Then continued after a pause, “how do you mean minor incident?”

Another pause.

“I see,” Luthor said, and he didn’t look mad at all, in fact his expression was probably as close to understanding as he got, “well, I’m sure someone of his _skill level_ -“ his voice was drawling and insulting, “was child’s play for you to handle.”

More pause. Conner could be listening in, could be hearing what the other person was saying, with ease. He didn’t want to, he didn’t need to know what Luthor was up to, what he’d paid someone to do. He’d mastered the art of selective hearing a long time ago.

And, anyway, he needed to focus on the road.

“as always your services are appreciated,” Luthor said, eternally pleased to know that a job had been well done, “extra payment will also be supplied shortly for your extra efforts. I doubt I need to worry about any of this leaking to the wrong sources.”

Barely even a pause and then.

“brilliant, thank you Mister Grayson, have a good day.”

Conner clenched his jaw and kept his eyes stubbornly on the road.

Luthor was just mocking him now.

Conner’s grip on the steering wheel was tight and his knuckles were white. God he hated this man.

Conner opened the door into the lab, keeping it open so Luthor could walk in, Mercy at his back, then shutting it and standing at ease before it.

“what have you got?” Luthor asked, standing before the scientists and looking at the screens.

Conner couldn’t even begin to comprehend all the scientific jargon they started talking about. He let himself split his attention between what was happening in the room and the chatter over the security comms.

They started talking about dimensional travel and Conner couldn’t have cared less till-

“the energy is similar to what comes off of Speedsters,” a scientist explained, “any data we have after The Flash dipped into interdimensional or time travel, or whatever this _Speed Force_ Reverse Flash has mentioned is, this is kind of energy that presents itself.”

“So, The Flash attempted to travel interdimensionally or through the time stream.” Luthor was watching the videos and graphs and other scientific crap on the screens with a keen eye.

“that’s what we thought, but The Flash was present and trying to catch the yellow blur.”

Conner’s eyes looked to the screens, watching a clip of a blur _slamming_ into the base of a skyscraper and then zipping away as the tower began to crumble.

He felt a low, cold, sense of foreboding in his gut as his hunch kicked in. he shut it down quickly. It was impossible, and he’d given up on hoping for impossible things a long time ago.

He forced himself to zone out again. He came back in about an hour later when Luthor turned to him.

“I’m sending you after this,” Luthor said, picking up a device, “this’ll do all the work tracking the energy, you just have to follow it and find the source.”

Conner held back a scowl. He took the device and analysed it. it was about the size of a phone, the screen all black except for two lights blinking on the bottom right corner. Luthor tapped the screen and a map lit up in futuristic black-and-neon-green style, with a line guiding Conner towards Central city while a pulsing dot floated above the CBD.

Conner’s job wasn’t to ask questions. He nodded, said ‘yes sir’, and asked when Luthor would like him to leave.

“take a company car back to the hotel, pack for a week and go,” Luthor said, turning back to the screens and scientists in clear dismissal.

Conner slipped out, tucking the device into the inner pocket of his blazer.

At least he’d be away from Luthor’s presence for a week, he thought to himself.

It was a childish attempt to look on the bright side, but he gripped to it, nonetheless.

Conner was quite sure he wouldn’t be able to get through this if Kaldur wasn’t there, but he also wasn’t sure how to express that to his friend, so they stayed silent.

The sky was grey and overcast, but there was a spot of blue visible in the distance. The tree rustled slightly, branches over them in a sweeping wave of green. The hill was ample distance to watch, and Conner could hear it all with his super hearing. Kaldur couldn’t, but from the expression on his face Conner doubted he wanted to.

The casket was being lowered. Conner thought he shouldn’t have been buried. He should have been cremated. Conner thought this was all wrong, this shouldn’t have happened, that it should have been _anyone_ else.

Conner thought a lot of things. He doubted anyone would care for the rest of his life.

“I don’t understand how it happened,” Kaldur said, voice absent of any emotion or energy, “how it all went so wrong.”

Conner opened his mouth to answer, to offer comfort, maybe even to explain. But he couldn’t do any of those things.

Instead he asked a new question that had more chance of being answered, “have you heard anything of M’Gann?”

Kaldur clenched his jaw and looked at the grass between his feet, “no. My…” he swallowed, took a deep breath, “my father says he doesn’t know anything, and if he does he’s not telling me.” Kaldur crossed his arms, “have you heard anything of Artemis?”

“no,” Conner said, “Luthor isn’t telling me anything. He barely lets me ask questions.”

Kaldur nodded, “I’m sorry.”

“you’re not in that much better of a situation,” Conner snorted.

“but I am sorry,” Kaldur said, looking at Conner with guilt evident in every square inch of his existence, “I am…” he closed his eyes tight, “I was our leader. _Your_ leader. And I failed all of us.”

“there was only so much you could do,” Conner said, “and you still managed more. It wasn’t enough and that’s _okay_ , it wasn’t your fault,” Conner assured.

He was angry, he was so damn angry. At Luthor, at Savage, at Sportsmaster, at Deathstroke, at Klarion. He was _angry_ , but he was not angry at Kaldur and he refused to let himself snap at his friend. Kaldur didn’t deserve it and god knew that Conner didn’t want to estrange his friend, even if he never got to speak to him again.

They paused, recalibrating as they held themselves together. Refusing to let themselves spend their final moments in public feeling a semblance of normalcy in each other’s company be ruined by the fact that their lives were ending.

They looked back at the funeral. Conner’s eyes locked onto Clark, standing by Bruce.

And Clark looked up, gaze snapping to the two of them and zeroing in. Conner hated the weight of his gaze, hated how they had to walk away now, hated that he couldn’t fight.

“we have to go,” Conner told Kaldur, “they’ve noticed us.”

They had both been told they could have this, could attend their friend’s funeral provided no one noticed them. And if they did they had to leave immediately. They were not allowed to interact.

“just a little longer,” Kaldur said, and it sounded like he was pleading. Conner wasn’t sure who with, but he found himself pleading with them as well, silently.

And he heard, distantly, Luthor’s voice, picked up by his accursed super hearing.

“remember our conditions, Superboy.”

Conner shut his eyes and swallowed, ducking his head in defeat.

“we have to go,” he repeated to Kaldur, in a voice that was much more quiet and hurt and lost and alone than he had before.

Kaldur swung a hand around Conner’s shoulders and they turned and began to walk away.

Conner wasn’t paying attention, didn’t watch as Clark appeared on the top of the hill in pursuit of them. But he heard the shot.

His eyes snapped up and landed on Mercy, arm extended and pistol in hand, still smoking. He looked up to where Clark was now kneeling in pain, hand pressed to his chest. He jerked in Kaldur’s grip, wanting to help, Kaldur held him back best he could but he only managed it for a split second before Conner was taking a step.

“Superboy,” Luthor drawled, “get in the car.”

Conner turned and glared at Luthor but was met with that same disapproving warning look he’d been getting for the past week.

He swallowed, planted his feet and clenched his fists as he stared at the car door that mercy was opening.

Kaldur’s father jerked his head towards their own car and Kaldur marched over like a soldier falling into line. His father placed a hand on his shoulder, face compassionate as if his son wanted his care or his pity, and guided him into their car.

Conner spared Clark one last guilty glance before he ducked into Luthor’s own car. At that moment it could have been him mercy had shot with a kryptonite bullet because his heart was pounding against his chest like it was poisoned.

The signal was winding, with no direction in mind it seemed. He went to the CBD of Central and followed it out of the city West until it switched back for a few hours-worth of driving and then turned North. By the first day he’d gone round plenty and made his way to a small town just east of Metropolis. He stopped in at a bed and breakfast that had a room available and slept.

Or at least he tried to.

He couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t tune out his over working brain. A yellow blur, the speed force, not the flash but someone else.

He didn’t want to admit to himself that he was hopeful it was Wally.

On one hand it meant his friend was alive, on the other it meant he’d been stuck in some multi-universal clusterfuck for a decade. On one hand it meant his friend was alive, on the other it meant he’d find out about the rest of their team of old proteges that had become something so counter to what they believed in. on the one hand it meant his friend was alive, on the other he’d always been glad that there was one childhood companion he didn’t have to worry about when thinking of what others would think of who he was now.

And what if it wasn’t Wally? What if he got his hopes up, started believing his friend was alive only to lose him again? The grieving process was enough the first time through, and he wasn’t quite sure he’d even completely finished healing, he didn’t think he could handle it again.

And if it was Wally? Luthor had sent him to find and capture his best friend and turn him in to his scientists. To be poked and prodded at, to be experimented on. How could he do that in good conscience?

He sighed as he got up from the bed, he was too restless he wouldn’t manage any sleep. He made himself a cup of tea with the tv on in the background, the news playing quietly enough that only he could hear, and walked to the window in the room, looking out at the street. There was water on the road, glowing from the streetlights, and he could see a sign for a diner a block away.

There had been a diner in Happy Harbour he and the team had loved to visit. He remembered, a mere week before the mission that went so wrong, going to that diner with his friends. It was the first time they’d been out in public with Dick Grayson, not Robin. They’d made fun of him when they noticed someone in the back corner snap a photo of him and then they’d gone to the local pool to cause chaos in an attempt to cause a PR issue. They hadn’t, but they couldn’t care less the goal wasn’t achieved, they’d had fun.

He wondered where Dick was now.

Luthor had been talking to him, that much was evident. He’d shoved that in his face at the end of the call.

He envied Dick, just a little. He knew too much about what the guy had been through to truly envy him a lot, but he could envy him a small amount. Dick had control _(or at least a small amount)._ The only people left controlling his every move and decision and thought were his own inner demons and fears.

Slade Wilson was dead, but Conner doubted that was enough to make Dick stop fearing him.

He almost wished he could ask Dick for help. To swoop in like Batman and save him-

That’s what he could do.

If it was Wally. He could send him Dick’s way.

He’d just done a job for Luthor… in Happy harbour? Yes, Conner was sure. If it was Wally, he could tell him to go to Happy Harbour and find Dick. Dick could help him, _would_ help him.

Surely.

Surely Wilson hadn’t changed him so much he’d turn his own best friend away.

And he could go back to Luthor after a week and tell him the signal lost strength and he couldn’t find the yellow blur. He was just too damn fast.

Conner couldn’t save himself but maybe he could save Wally.

Conner couldn’t _breathe_.

The wound was in his arm, but the sick feeling of kryptonite leeching into his skin was disgusting and icky and cold and every breath he took stuttered on its way in.

His head was pounding, and he wasn’t sure if that was because he’d been hit in the head or if it was the kryptonite bullet lodged in his bicep.

What was he supposed to be doing? There was something he had to focus on before he had gone down. There was something…

A scream filled the room, echoed by a snap that pierced Conner’s ears like a needle. He managed to lift his head from the ground and tried to find the source of the scream through the haze that was blurring his vision.

A blur of red, someone stumbled back into a wall, holding his arm.

Robin.

It was bleeding, _he_ was bleeding, all over. He was panting and hunched, and his arm looked like it was now hanging out of the socket. He did his best to square his stance as Deathstroke approached once more.

Conner tried to get his arms under him, tried to get up to his knees, tried to _move_ , but the most he managed was to flail his unwounded arm and groan.

He’d never heard Robin scream before, never seen him so afraid.

But Deathstroke was stalking towards him, slow and deliberate, with a sword in hand that was already dripping with his blood.

Robin waited, ready to move, and so did Deathstroke. Until he lurched forward with a swipe that Robin managed to dodge, then went off balance and stumbled, and then-

The sword went straight through his chest.

it looked like it met no resistance, like his skin was butter under the steel, his bones gave without hesitation and he hunched over the blade as a gasp ripped itself from his mouth.

Deathstroke had the audacity to hold him while he died.

He pulled the blade out, placed it on the floor absentmindedly as Robin swayed and his legs gave under him. He collapsed and Deathstroke caught him in his arms and held him in a mockery of an embrace as Robin gasped and spluttered and winced. He was bleeding, god there seemed to be no end to the blood that was leaking from him.

Conner was fading out, the kryptonite was taking its toll, but he watched as Wally, a blur of yellow, appeared. And he heard a wail of emotion that he supposed was probably a word, but Conner couldn’t quite make it out. Deathstroke looked Wally like he was a hindrance, like he was dirt under his shoe.

“Witch boy,” Deathstroke drawled, “would you deal with the speedster already?”

He heard Klarion’s giggles reverberating in his skull. Deathstroke placed Robin’s limp body on the ground. He was still alive; Conner could hear the faintest beat every couple seconds. Robin had maybe half a minute and then he’d be gone from the world.

And Conner couldn’t even say goodbye. Could only watch.

Wally ran for Deathstroke, and the mercenary merely side stepped but allowed Wally to get close to Robin. Stepping back to stand by Klarion somewhere in Conner’s peripheral vision.

Wally clung to Robin in his final seconds, a sob wrenching out of him and shoulders shaking. The rest of reality seemed to have stopped existing to him.

Klarion cackled and stepped forward, “oh, look at the poor little hero, watch him cry.”

Wally glared through glistening eyes at Klarion. He placed Robin down on the ground, this time there was no heartbeat no breath no shiver of movement.

Conner’s friend had just died. Right in front of him.

And he couldn’t do anything about it.

Waly stood, hands in fists at his sides. And he sped for Klarion.

The witch boy dodged the hit, and the next, and then shot a bolt of red energy that had Wally leaning against the wall he fell against.

“does anyone want this annoying twerp?” Klarion asked, turning to Deathstroke.

“no,” the mercenary said, “he’s free real estate.”

Klarion set his eyes on Wally once more, grinning so evilly that it distorted his entire face.

Wally shrieked, yelling in rage with so much power that for a moment Conner was proud. He ran at Klarion once more.

“oh, come _on_ , can’t you think of something new?” Klarion hissed, using a spell to levitate in the air, his eyes glowed red, “well, if you want to _run_ boy, then _run!_ ”

A blast of energy hit Kid Flash and he wailed in agony as he stumbled and hit the ground. His body glowed, he whimpered, and he was vibrating, flickering.

“ _run or die!_ ”

Conner watched as Wally set off running, and every time it looked like the spell would stop hurting him if he just kept pace it started again and Wally screamed again and the only way to make it stop was to _go faster_. He tried to run and leap at Klarion, but the witch boy cackled and chanted, and a boom tube opened up around Wally.

Conner was stuck watching, stuck ding nothing as his friend and teammate was forced to run, and run, and run, and _run_ , faster and faster and faster until it was _too much_ -

And the speed force swallowed him up with one heaving mouthful.

The signal started petering off somewhere on the other side of Metropolis.

Whatever this yellow blur was- Wally, Wally, _please ~~don’t~~ be Wally_\- it was losing energy. Likely because it had now been out of the speed force for about three days.

Conner continued to follow the waning signal, until it ended.

He was in Gotham.

The signal was weak and disappeared, the most the device could tell him was that it had been within a ten-mile radius of Gotham _at some point_.

Conner didn’t like that at all.

The news had announced the death of some competitor of Luthor’s that morning. It had happened in Happy Harbour. Gunshot wound, straight between the eyes. There had been no obvious signs of struggle _in_ the building and the police had absolutely no leads. The bullet had gone straight through the guy’s skull, having entered at close range and point blank, and the bullet had been taken from the crime scene.

Conner knew exactly who the perpetrator was.

He asked the lady at the desk at the bed and breakfast he’d stayed in if there was a phone on the premises he could borrow. She’d directed him to a payphone, which was perfect, and Conner racked his brain as to what number he had to call.

Dick had given him that number a long time ago. A _long_ time. About four or five years now, and Conner had burned the paper he’d written it on- as Dick had instructed him to do- after memorising it.

He used to recite it as he stared at the ceiling of a night. He’d stopped after about a year.

He didn’t think he’d ever get the chance to use it. and if he did, he didn’t think Dick would ever be able to uphold what he promised when he’d given it to him.

“keep in mind our current living conditions,” he’d said with a wry smile that had been so very, very forced, “but if you need anything… or just want to talk.”

The amount of work Dick would have had to do to make Wilson trust him enough to hand him a phone… Conner didn’t want to think about it.

But now Dick’s ‘living conditions’ were very different and Conner was quite sure he could uphold this.

He just didn’t know I he could talk to him.

He also didn’t know if the number still existed.

He managed to remember it, dialled, held the phone to his ear. Every ring of the phone made his stomach twist itself tighter.

The answering machine picked it up, and Conner let out a breath of relief.

When the tone beeped he said, “hey Dick, it’s Conner. Look. I’m sending someone your way, you’re in Happy Harbour, yeah? Just stay there for at least 24 hours, please.”

And then he was off, following the signal, which landed him in Gotham.

Fucking Gotham.

He hated the irony. And he hated that it was fuelling his hypothesis.

If what he thought was true, if this was Wally…

He knew exactly where he’d gone.

He trudged through the grass; his leather oxfords shiny from dew. He knew exactly where the grave was. He stood on the same hill he’d stood on a decade ago, under the same tree, but this time there was no Kaldur, and there was no funeral and there was no Mercy about to shoot Clark with a kryptonite bullet.

There was no funeral procession, but there was one lone person hunched by the foot of the grave.

He looked down at the spot, darker now and with grass slightly longer around it. dead flowers before it and wildflower weeds springing up randomly where they so wished.

Conner had never been any closer to the grave than this.

He took a deep breath and took a step forward.

It’s not like there was a body in the casket.

He stepped up to the hunched figure, wearing a red hoodie and jeans. The hood was pulled up over his face.

And it was Wally. It _had_ to be Wally.

“they dug him up two days after the funeral.”

The figure whipped around to look at Conner, eyes wide. Ginger hair was shadowed by the hood and green eyes stared at Conner.

“they injected him with some kind of military serum,” Conner continued, as Wally stood, “brought him back to life, with the same enhancements as Deathstroke.”

Wally blinked, staring at Conner like he was trying to determine if he was real or not.

“what?”

Conner pursed his lips, “a lot’s happened Wally.”

“how long?”

“ten years. Give or take a month.”

Wally swayed, like his legs were about to buckle, and seemed to somehow turn paler. Conner was worried he’d throw up.

“it’s good to see you,” Conner finally managed to say, “we all thought you were dead.”

Wally stared at Conner, and then the logo on his blazer, and then his shoes.

“what the hell happened?”

Conner shut his eyes tight, swallowed, breathed deep, “god, I don’t even know.”

“what about the others?”

“alive.” Conner stuffed his hands in his pockets, “but I don’t think any of us are entirely happy with our new lots in life.”

Wally made a noise in the back of his throat. He pitched sideways and caught himself, stumbling back till the grave hit the back of his legs.

“I don’t understand.”

Conner nodded, “that’s okay.”

Wally seemed to deflate, “can you help me?”

“no,” Conner said, then nodded at the name on the grave, “but I know someone who can.”

Wally looked so damn hopeful, and it was at that point that Conner remembered that the last time Wally had seen Dick he’d been dying in his arms.

“Happy Harbour, he’ll be in a safe house of some sort,” Conner said, “be… gentle.”

“gentle?”

“he’s not who he used to be. But he’ll help,” Conner said, “I think.”

“you think?” Wally asked, and he sounded so hopeless, so scared. Conner didn’t think it was himself he was scared for.

Conner nodded, “I have to believe as much.”

Wally looked him over again, as if he were trying to understand every second of the past decade just by looking at him.

His voice cracked when he said, “can I have a hug?”

Conner blinked in surprise, but found his body answered before his mouth. He held his arms up and let Wally collapse into them.

“you doing okay?”

Wally shook his head, “not in the slightest.”

“okay,” Conner said, “there’s not much I can do, but you can get through this. I know you can.”

“Central… the- the attack, that- that was-“

“not your fault,” Conner said. He didn’t know for sure, but he refused to believe it was. There was no way Wally was in his right mind, looking at him now… “just breathe Wally. Breathe. It’ll be okay.”

Wally nodded, then stepped back, “Happy Harbour?”

Conner nodded.

“thank you.”

And Wally disappeared.

**Author's Note:**

> and, oh _no _what ever kind of trouble could Roy have gotten into? I wonder.__


End file.
